


A Princess for Starkhaven

by 2ndbreakfasts



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Arranged Marriage, BioWare, Considerable age-gap but not too much, Dragon Age Lore, F/M, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Loss of Virginity, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Sebastian says "lass" a lot, Starkhaven is basically fantasy Scotland, Wedding Fluff, Wedding Night, What the fuck is a "chaste marriage"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 18:36:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7856572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2ndbreakfasts/pseuds/2ndbreakfasts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been years since Marian Hawke left Sebastian Vael during the destruction of the Kirkwall Chantry. Now, Prince Sebastian must find a new Princess for Starkhaven and come to terms with the fact that princes, even heartbroken ones, are not destined for chastity.</p><p>E rating is mostly for Chapter 6. Some paragraphs from Chapter 6 have been moved to Chapter 5, but the story is otherwise unchanged.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arranged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sebastian mulls over his impending marriage to a complete stranger.

_1st of Kingsway 9:42 Dragon_

"Remember, Your Highness, the future of Starkhaven—and the stability of your dynasty—rests on the success of your marriage. True, your bride may not be a Starkhaven lass, but..."

Sebastian Vael, Prince of Starkhaven, swirled the remaining whiskey in his glass and tried his best to maintain an interested expression as his Seneschal, Roderick MacLeod, prattled on about a myriad of last-minute details for his wedding the following day to Lady Sarah Montoya of Rialto, an Antivan noblewoman he had never met before.

"... Her Worship sends her regrets, as she is still dealing with their Avvar problem..."

Despite the fact that Sebastian had been Prince for two years now, the looming subject of his marriage was only seriously opened to discussion fairly recently. The immediate threat of the Breach had been dealt with mere months ago, thanks to the tireless efforts of Lady Inquisitor Evelyn Trevelyan, the Inquisition, and its international network of allies, of which Starkhaven was a part. Roderick had once, for a brief moment, broached the idea of a marriage to Her Worship—herself the daughter of a prominent noble family from Ostwick—but immediately rescinded when her relationship with the Commander of the Inquisition's forces became public.

"... the Antivans have been complaining incessantly since yesterday about the coffee shortage, what with the war and all..."

Even before Fade demons started escaping from the Breach, Starkhaven had problems of its own. After the grisly murder of his entire immediate family, Sebastian left behind his life as a lay brother in the Kirkwall Chantry to reclaim his throne from his cousin Goran. The civil war, while shorter than most wars in Thedosian history, had taken its toll on Starkhaven, especially the rural border towns and trading posts. By the time the Breach opened, Starkhaven was still sowing the first seeds of economic, political, and social recovery.

"... However, Lady Sarah has been nothing if not helpful. By some miracle of the Maker or Fade magic, she made them stop complaining for two minutes, long enough for..."

But now that peace was restored, Roderick decided to remind Sebastian that Princes—even ones who were former Chantry brothers—were not destined for chastity and it was high time he found a Princess and started a family. Sebastian was content to leave the tedious process of screening potential candidates to Roderick, who performed the task with no small amount of zeal. Two months ago, Roderick waddled into Sebastian's study and plopped a stack of parchment so tall Sebastian couldn't see above it on his desk. The papers explained in meticulous detail the physical description, lineage, fortune, education, and temperament of every eligible young lady from Orlais, Nevarra, Antiva, the Free Marches, and Ferelden, courtesy of Starkhaven's ever competent Spymaster. He dutifully went through the papers of twelve different ladies before a budding headache prompted him to just reach into the middle of the stack and pick one at random.

"... A shame the King and Queen of Ferelden can't make it. Lady Sarah is extremely fond of her cousin, but Queen Elissa only returned from her journey west last week..."

According to her dossier, Lady Sarah Montoya was the third child of Lord Umbrosio Montoya of Rialto and his wife Lady Eliza. Sebastian had been wary of their age difference—he was thirty-two and she was only twenty-four—but Roderick pointed out that Sebastian's own mother was ten years younger than his father. Sarah's bloodlines on both sides of her family were impeccable: Lord Umbrosio came from a long line of wealthy, influential merchant princes who made their fortune trading Antivan silks and spices all across Thedas, while Lady Eliza was from the Cousland family, one of the oldest noble houses in Ferelden. The late Teyrn Bryce Cousland, Lady Eliza's older brother, was the father of Ferelden's beloved Queen Elissa.

"Thank the Maker Lady Sarah was there to translate. The feud between Lord Otranto and Lord Kenric's eldest was resolved before any more bones were broken..."

Wealth and connections aside, Sarah was also well-educated; in addition to studying art and history in Denerim and Val Royeaux, she was fluent in the King's Tongue, Orlesian, and Antivan. The Spymaster noted that her Starkic was rudimentary at best, but Sebastian doubted she'd ever need it. After ages of foreign influence and trade, most Starkhaveners spoke the King's Tongue in public almost exclusively, relegating the ancient language of their forebears to household use, if at all. By that evening's end, Sebastian gave Sarah's dossier to Roderick, not bothering to go through the other papers, so a formal marriage proposal and contract could be drawn. Sebastian had to marry someone, and truthfully, he didn't really care whom. Sarah had all the qualities he needed in his Princess—intelligent, high-born, and healthy—and no glaring flaws.

Except one.

She wasn't Marian Hawke.

"Are you even listening, Your Highness?"

Startled, Sebastian nearly spilled the rest of his whiskey on the crisp white linen of his nightshirt. He forced his uncooperative thoughts back to Roderick, who was waiting for his reply—or apology, more likely—with a vexed brow.

"Forgive me, Roderick, I was woolgathering. What were you asking?"

Roderick clucked his tongue disapprovingly, and it occurred to Sebastian at that exact moment how much Roderick resembled a well-fattened chicken: his fiery red hair curled upwards and towards the middle of his head like a cockscomb, while his large aquiline nose resembled a beak. The fact that he was dressed in a ridiculous coat made entirely of black crow feathers did not help at all. Sebastian did his best to suppress a chuckle, and failed.

Roderick narrowed his eyes and cleared his throat. "Honestly, Your Highness, one might think that you care nothing for your marriage."

He wasn't far from the truth, but Sebastian was wise enough to keep that thought to himself.

"As I was saying, minor problems have arisen in the last few days of preparation, but they've all been dealt with expeditiously, due in no small part to Lady Sarah's intervention. Are you entirely certain you don't want to meet with her before the wedding?"

Sebastian shook his head. "She might change her mind, and we wouldn't want that now, would we? What would we do with all the cake?" he said with a self-deprecating chuckle.

Roderick let out an exasperated sigh, but nodded anyway. "As you wish, Your Highness. The wedding will take place at high noon tomorrow at the Starkhaven Cathedral, so I will arrange for you to be woken up at eight bells."

Sebastian shook his head again. "That won't be necessary. I will attend the first morning Chant in the palace chapel, like I do every day."

Roderick nodded. "Very well, Your Highness. Do you require anything else?"

"No, thank you, Roderick. May the Maker watch over you."

The benediction left Sebastian's lips without a second thought. Old Chantry habits die hard, but Roderick made no comment. He simply bowed and exited the room, leaving Sebastian alone with his thoughts and his whiskey. He swallowed the burnt umber liquid in one gulp and slumped into his chair. He didn't know why he was had no desire to see his bride-to-be. Roderick assured him that Sarah was not lacking in intelligence or beauty, but ever since she arrived at the Winterstone Palace in Starkhaven yesterday morning, he had made it a point to avoid her. He took his meals in private and spent most of the past two days locked up in his study. She hadn't asked to see him, either, but he suspected that was more due to courtesy than to a mutual desire to avoid each other.

Sebastian rose from his chair and walked the short distance to his bed, setting down his empty glass on the tallboy before climbing into his large bed. No matter how many warming pans the servants placed underneath his mattress, his bed always remained cold. It wouldn't have been the case if Marian was still with him. She was a master of primal and elemental magic, but fire always came naturally to her most; her warming spells had saved them from frostbite while camping on many a cold winter night. But Marian had cut him out of her life years ago, on that red day in Kirkwall. The years since then had done nothing to erase the pain in his heart. That was why he didn't really care who stood next to him at the altar tomorrow; whoever it was stood a very good chance of never holding his heart.

Perhaps that was the reason he didn't want to meet Sarah. Not only would it affirm, once and for all, that a future with Marian was not possible, but it would also force him to face the poor woman he had doomed to a loveless marriage for the sake of his family's legacy. And he felt awful for it. Whoever Sarah was, she deserved better.

Sebastian groaned and closed his eyes. The sooner the wedding was over, the better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I've been playing the Dragon Age games since they came out, but this year I've decided to revisit all of them. One thing that really bothered me was how they handled Sebastian's romance arc. Like for starters, who the fuck thought that a chaste marriage was a good idea??? In a Bioware game??? I also had a difficult time imagining Hawke as an ideal Princess of Starkhaven, given (among other things) her role in the events of Dragon Age: Inquisition. 
> 
> I don't normally write for fun—most of my writing is either academic or work-related—but in this golden age of fandom when fanfic fixes everything, I decided to take a stab at it. I've also tried to stay faithful to the lore as much as possible. This is my first fanfic, so comments and constructive criticism are appreciated!
> 
> Note on lore:  
> While writing this story, I tried to stay faithful to the lore whenever possible. This includes references to other games in the series, codex entries, and word-of-God:  
> -I used Thedas' calendar, which contains twelve months: Wintermarch, Guardian, Drakonis, Cloudreach, Bloomingtide, Justinian, Solace, August, Kingsway, Harvestmere, Firstfall, and Haring. Five holidays, called annums, take place on the first day of certain months. On a larger scale, the Chantry calendar is measured in Ages, spanning 99 years. In the 99th year of an Age, the Divine will look to an event or portent in order to determine the name of the coming Age. There have been nine ages thus far (not including the Ancient Age): Divine Age, Glory Age, Towers Age, Black Age, Exalted Age, Steel Age, Storm Age, Blessed Age, Dragon Age. The events of this story take place in Kingsway 9:42 Dragon—a few months after the end of Dragon Age: Inquisition.  
> -In this story, the Inquisitor is a human noble with the default name Evelyn Trevelyan. She's in a relationship with Cullen Rutherford, the Commander of the Inquisition's forces, so Sebastian can't court her. Roderick mentions that Evelyn can't attend because they're dealing with their Avvar problem. The DA:I DLC, Jaws of Hakkon, is set in Avvar territory.  
> -Roderick mentions that the Antivan wedding guests have been complaining about the lack of coffee. Antiva is famous for its coffee, as well as its wine.  
> -In this story, the Warden is a human noble with the default name Elissa Cousland. She marries Alistair Theirin and becomes Queen of Ferelden. Her aunt (and Sarah's mother) Eliza isn't canon, but her father, Teyrn Bryce Cousland, certainly is. In my mind, Bryce named Elissa after his little sister Eliza. I don't think the Couslands would have had a problem with their daughter marrying into a wealthy Antivan merchant family; after all, Oriana, the wife of Fergus Cousland (Elissa's older brother), was born into a rich Antivan trading family. During the events of Dragon Age: Inquisition, the Warden is away, looking for a cure for the Grey Wardens' Calling. The King Alistair/Queen Cousland pairing will always have a special place in my heart, and I wanted them to have a happy life together, so in this story, the Warden is successful and finally returns home to her king.  
> -The Montoyas are a family of merchant princes. While Antiva is legally a monarchy, the true power conferred strictly by wealth lies in the hands of a dozen merchant princes. They are not princes in the literal sense, but heads of banks, trading companies, and vineyards, each with a personal army, and each locked in a constant struggle against all the others.  
> -If you romanced Josephine in DA:I, you might remember Lord Adorno Ciel Otranto from one of the side quests.  
> -We don't know what the royal palace of Starkhaven is called, but we do know that it's located in the heart of the city and it's made of marble, and the path to it is paved in granite. Winterstone Palace is just a name I made up.


	2. Expectations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sebastian and his new wife Sarah are alone for the first time.

_2nd of Kingsway 9:42 Dragon_

It was done. Sebastian was a married man, and standing across him was his wife Sarah—a lady he had only known for several hours.

Thousands of Starkhaveners had turned out to celebrate their marriage and Sarah's coronation as the new Princess of Starkhaven—the first since his mother's death years ago. Every public space between the boulevard outside the Starkhaven Cathedral and the Winterstone Palace at the heart of the city had been packed with revelers and well-wishers eager to get a glimpse of their new Princess.

He had to admit that Sarah, while definitely not a conventional beauty, was striking. Years under the Rialto sun had turned her skin golden—a far cry from the milk-pale complexion that was the current fashion in the courts of Starkhaven and Orlais, but it suited her perfectly. Her lips, soft and luscious, curved easily into a gracious smile with each blessing or compliment. Her plump cheeks lent a certain sweetness to her countenance. Her long hair, black as midnight in the Starkhaven winter, tumbled down her back in soft waves. Large almond-shaped eyes the color of rich, freshly tilled earth completed her dramatic coloring. She was an enigma, a breath of fresh air, and the Starkhaveners took to her immediately.

Outside their bedchamber at the moment, hundreds of foreign dignitaries and noble guests were three sheets to the wind, downing Starkhaven whiskey and Antivan port by the barrel, eager to fulfill their role in this phase of their traditional Starkhaven wedding ceremony. For the first time since they met, they were well and truly alone.

While waiting for her earlier in his—their—bedchamber, he forsook his ceremonial ivory and gold armor for a loose nightshirt and dark linen trousers. When she finally entered through the door that connected to her dressing room, she wore an ankle-length nightgown and matching peignoir of soft, diaphanous white Antivan silk and lace. While simple in its cut and design, the slinky fabric clung lovingly to her body, showcasing her hourglass figure to perfection: the voluptuous curves of her hips, the sudden indent of her waist, the delectable globes of her derriere. The scooped neckline had just the right amount of plunge to accentuate her full, round breasts. She was quite short—the top of her head didn't even reach his shoulder—but what the Maker had denied her in height was certainly made up for with generous curves.

Sebastian was surprised at himself; it appeared that after years of disuse, his rakishly trained senses were still fully functional. And judging by the growing bulge in his trousers, incredibly enticed. He had not expected to be so aroused by his new wife, but by the Maker, he was, and he hadn't even touched her yet. He scratched the back of his neck nervously.

_Does she know what everyone outside expects of us?_

"I... Ah... Whiskey." He gestured vaguely to the decanter on the escritoire by the window. "Do you like whiskey, Sarah?"  _Maker help me, why am I so nervous?_

A slight blush crept up her cheeks before she shook her head.  _Maker, she's adorable when she blushes._ He smiled gently, trying his best to regain his composure. Perhaps the best way to ease the tension was a little tidbit from the Vael family's past. She was, after all, a student of history, and now, a Vael. "Then this particular whiskey might be perfect for you. It's Aurora Vael's honey whiskey. Do you know the story behind it?"

She shook her head as she approached him; he tried to ignore the way her nightgown fluttered around her shapely legs when she walked. "I only know that Aurora Vael was a Princess of Starkhaven during the Black Age. She was Antivan, wasn't she? One of Queen Asha Campana's daughters?" She almost sounded Fereldan when she spoke, with just the slightest hint of an Antivan accent when she said "Aurora" and "Campana."

Sebastian nodded as he poured the amber liquid into two glasses—one with a little less whiskey, so she could taste it first. "Indeed. When she arrived in Starkhaven for her wedding to Prince Donovan Vael, she found Starkhaven's winter far too cold. Normally, Starkhaveners will drink whiskey to combat the chill, but Aurora hated it—too strong, too bitter. Besotted and eager to please his bride, Donovan collaborated with the palace brewer to create a special whiskey that would suit Aurora's tastes but still keep her warm. On their wedding night, Donovan presented her with a bottle of the special honey whiskey. She was touched by his concern for her, and as the story goes, fell in love with Donovan that very same night. They went on to have a staggering fourteen children."

Her eyes widened. "Maker's breath, I hope you don't expect fourteen children from me. That's far too much pressure on my womb."

He chuckled as he handed her the glass with less whiskey, and she nodded her thanks. "Don't you worry, lass. Thirteen will suffice."

She humphed at him, but he could see the corners of her mouth quirk upwards. "Thank the Maker for small mercies."

"So ever since then, it's been a tradition in Starkhaven for a married couple to share a bottle of honey whiskey on their wedding night."

She smiled as she raised her glass. "To our thirteen children. May they not, for both our sakes, come out all at once."

He laughed—his first genuine laugh in a long time—as he raised his glass to hers. He kept his eyes on her face as he drank. She took a sniff and a small sip from her glass, and if the surprise in her eyes was any gauge, she found it pleasing enough to her palate. She took a longer sip, and seconds later brought her hand to her mouth and coughed.

"It... _burns_!"

He chuckled. "It's supposed to, lass, if it's going to keep you warm."

Her coughing fit eased, and she drained her glass, her cheeks flushed pink from the whiskey. "It is delicious, though. I would drink it again." She placed her empty glass next to the decanter and looked up at him, a gentle smile on her lips. "Thank you for telling me that story about Aurora Vael. I'm very fond of stories."

He didn't expect that soft, simple smile to pluck at his heartstrings like a master Bard of the Grand Game, but it did. He cleared his throat and set his own empty glass next to hers. "It was my pleasure. Actually, if you like stories so much, there is something we can do to pass the time until we sleep."

Her eyes widened in mix of surprise and confusion. "Sleep? But I thought we had to..." Her cheeks turned beet red as she gestured vaguely to the bed.

_Sweet Andraste, she knows._

"I-I suppose your mother told you what is... e-expected of us tonight?"

She nodded, her blush not abating. "Perhaps it's because she's Fereldan, or because she was raised during a more conservative time, but she told me to just... lie back and think of Antiva."

He frowned. Too many young ladies labored under the false impression that pleasure had no place in bed. He should know; he spent most of his wayward youth convincing a good number of them otherwise.

"But I don't always take her at her word. I've done some reading for myself, and I know there is more to it than mere tolerance on the lady's part." She cocked her head to the side, as if she were asking him to confirm her suspicions.

The thought of his lovely new wife, naked and writhing in pleasure beneath him, sent a painful twinge to his nether regions. _Maker, I need to pray. A lot._ It was his turn to blush, but fortunately, he managed to nod.

_Wait. Did she say "reading"?_

"You've never been with anyone before, lass?"

She shook her head sheepishly. "I've never met anyone I wanted to be with before."

Now _that_ was surprising. Whether or not she was still an innocent should not matter to him. And truthfully, it didn't. Whatever she did or didn't do before their marriage—however far she explored the realm of the senses—was entirely her affair. 

Yet he couldn't help but feel a loosening in his chest. 

_Blessed Andraste, why do I feel relieved?_

He stepped forward and took her hand. It was so soft and small—in stark contrast to his much larger, rougher hand, riddled with calluses after years of wielding a longbow in battle. It was meant to be a comforting gesture, but a strange sensation coursed through him the moment their hands touched—for the first time since they met.

"Lass, you need not worry that I will make you do anything you don't want to do. I will wait for however long you need to be ready. I may be out of practice, lass, but when you're ready, I will lay down everything I know about pleasure at your feet."

 _Where in the Void did that come from?_ A Spirit of Valor from the Fade must have possessed him because he managed to get through his unexpected spiel without stumbling over his words. It appeared he wasn't the only one utterly surprised at himself, because Sarah's eyes were as large as saucers.

 _Maker's breath, did I go too far?_ "F-forgive me, that was too forward, wasn't it? I-I didn't mean to frighten you, lass—that is, if such things frighten you. I d-don't mean to presume that..." _Maker, I used to be better at talking to beautiful women._ He sighed and massaged the imminent headache away from his temples. "If you want to slap me right now, I will understand completely."

But she didn't; what she did instead nearly knocked the wind out of his lungs. She stood on her tiptoes and planted a soft, tender kiss on his cheek. She was close enough for him to catch the light fragrance rising from her cleavage—lavender with wisps of vanilla. It was intoxicating.

"Thank you, Sebastian. Truly. I could have ended up with a terrible husband, but I took a chance and I'm grateful the Maker gave me you." She smiled at him again—a smile so radiant it seemed to be infused with the Maker's own light. It made his knees weak. "I... I look forward to exploring with you," she said shyly, "I must admit that I _have_ been curious for some time."

Sebastian quelled the urge to take her up on her offer at that very moment and raised her hand to his lips, planting a gentle kiss over the simple gold wedding band on her ring finger. "We can explore at your pace. If you ever feel uncomfortable, you need only say so and we'll stop."

She nodded. "I will keep that in mind. Now, you mentioned stories and something we could do to pass the time?"

He smiled as he withdrew a deck of cards from the escritoire's top drawer.

"Do you know how to play Wicked Grace?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note on lore:  
> While writing this story, I tried to stay faithful to the lore whenever possible. This includes references to other games in the series, codex entries, and word-of-God:  
> -The Chantry calendar is measured in Ages, spanning 99 years. In the 99th year of an Age, the Divine will look to an event or portent in order to determine the name of the coming Age. There have been nine ages thus far (not including the Ancient Age): Divine Age, Glory Age, Towers Age, Black Age, Exalted Age, Steel Age, Storm Age, Blessed Age, Dragon Age. In this story, Aurora Vael (not canon) was a daughter of Queen Asha Campana (canon), who reigned in Antiva during the Black Age.  
> -Speaking of Queen Asha, she was a minor Rivaini-born princess who married Alonzo Campana, a relatively powerless king at that time. To protect Antiva from its more powerful neighbors, Asha married off her children and grandchildren to strategically selected political families across Thedas. After 30 years, Antiva was so well-connected that any hostile act against her would force half of Thedas into war. Her bloodline is said to flow through the ruling families of Orlais, Nevarra, Starkhaven and the Anderfels, as well as within some Magisters of the Tevinter Imperium.  
> -The Grand Game, or simply The Game, refers to the politics and machinations of the nobles and rulers of Orlais. Politics in Orlais is an incredibly complicated "game" or "dance" of intrigue, seduction, ambition and scandal. Bards are proxies, provocateurs, or auteur agents of wealthy patrons in the Game, enacting their will through spying, bribes, seduction and sometimes even assassinations. These men and women are elite players of the Game, serving as minstrels or actors under learned bardmasters, and frequently using others as pawns in their work.  
> -The Void, also known as "the abyss" is a place of nothing. The Chantry views the Void as the antithesis of the Maker's creation. The relationship between the Void, or the abyss and the Fade is ambiguous. Andraste said all are children of the Maker and deserve the freedom to walk by His side or throw themselves to the Void, two fates that await the faithful and the unworthy in the afterlife, respectively. The Canticle of Threnodies seems to suggest that the Void is not equal to the Fade, but in it.  
> -According to the Chantry, the spirits of the Fade are the first children of the Maker. They can be benevolent or malevolent. The five widely known types of benevolent spirits are Compassion, Valor, Justice, Faith, and Hope.


	3. Wicked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our newlyweds find out which one of them is better at Wicked Grace.

Sebastian realized the foolishness of his question the second it left his lips.

Sarah put her hands on her hips. "Do I, a lady born and bred in Antiva, know how to play Wicked Grace? Do Fereldans love their mabari hounds? Do Orlesians wear masks?"

He held up his hands in mock surrender. "Far be it from me to doubt an Antivan's propensity for gambling. Have a seat by the fire, lass." He gestured to table and chairs positioned in front of the hearth, a roaring fire built inside to keep the chill of the Starkhaven autumn at bay. To his surprise, she took the glasses and the decanter of honey whiskey with her to the table.

They both took their seats and he shuffled the cards. "The usual rules apply, but instead of wagering money, we'll do something else. If I lose, I'll tell you a secret about myself. If you lose, you tell me a secret about yourself. Do we have a deal, lass?"

The smile she gave him was mischief incarnate. "Silly boy. Did your mother never warn you about playing cards against an Antivan?"

*****

"Well-played, lass. I would have won if had just one more knight."

"And I had the last knight in my hand, so you never would have won anyway. I believe you owe me a secret?"

"Fine, but pour me more whiskey. When I was little, I had a good friend named Flora Harimann. She was older than me, so she used to order me around and make me reenact stories from her books. Her favorite was the one with the Storm Age chevalier Michel Lafaille and his wife Angelique."

"The one where he rescues her from the Qunari during the Orlesian invasion of Kirkwall?"

"You know your history, lass. Yes, the very same. She made me reenact that stupid story more times than I dare count."

"That doesn't sound so bad."

"Flora insisted on playing Michel Lafaille."

"But then... Ah."

"Giggle all you want, lass. I looked quite fetching in Flora's Satinalia dress."

*****

"This is ridiculous. How did you know I was going for four drakes?"

"It's not my fault your tells are so obvious, Sebastian."

"Tells? Maker's ba—I don't have any tells!"

"My little nephew Elias could figure out your tells in five minutes, and he turns five in Firstfall."

"Fine, but I'll get you in the next round."

"And here I thought pigs only flew in Tevinter. More whiskey please, and your secret."

"Once, my parents took me and my brothers on a royal visit to Denerim. Being the rebellious little prince that I was, I escaped from my governess Old Aggie and decided to wander the city myself. Not long after, I realized I'd be in a world of trouble once she found me, so I decided to buy her a present as an apology. At that moment, I passed by a place called The Scarlet Ribbon. It sounded like a dress shop to me, and I knew Old Aggie needed a new scarf, so I went inside. Imagine my surprise when I found out what The Scarlet Ribbon really was."

"What was it?"

"A brothel, at that time the biggest rival of The Pearl. The madame—Maker's breath, lass, stop laughing!"

"Forgive me, do go on."

"Anyway, the madame of the brothel was very kind, and pointed me to the nearest dress shop. She even gave me a lolly."

"How old were you then?"

"Around seven, I think."

"Maker, you are _too_ precious."

"We'll see who's precious when I win the next hand. I've figured out your tells, lass."

"Sebastian! Everyone knows a lady has no tells."

*****

"... Maker's balls."

"And my parents assured me you were a good Chantry boy. Do you worship the Maker with that filthy mouth?"

 _There are other things I can worship with my mouth._ "I wasn't always a cloistered brother, lass. I was sent to the Chantry precisely because I was the exact opposite."

"Then you are no stranger to penance, which your secret will be for me."

"In your dressing room, did you notice a portrait of a lady with an infant on her lap?"

"The one set in a rose garden?"

"Yes, the palace rose garden outside. The baby in the portrait was my eldest brother Julian. When I was five years old, the Harimanns visited us for the summer. Flora saw the portrait and convinced me, Julian, and our other brother Augustine that the baby in the portrait was actually our brother Constantine, even older than Julian. She said he was never around because he was away in Nevarra, learning how to fight dragons with the Pentaghasts."

"And you all believed her?"

"For two years! One evening at supper with the Harimanns, I asked Mama when Constantine would return from Nevarra, and if he would bring me back a dragon's tooth. She had this puzzled look on her face and asked, 'Who's Constantine?'"

"Oh dear."

"You should have seen Flora. She almost choked on her sweetroll from laughing."

"She sounds delightful. I can't wait to meet her."

"Maker preserve all of us from you two."

*****

"You cheated! I saw that extra serpent up your sleeve, _pendejo_!"

"Cheating is lying, lass, and lying is a sin in the Maker's eyes. And what does _pendejo_ mean? It sounds filthy."

"That's because it is, and I'm not telling you."

"Ah, but you will tell me your secret. Shall I refill your glass?"

"Yes, please. You might have noticed that my name doesn't sound Antivan."

"I did wonder. I assumed it was because your mother is Fereldan."

"To some extent. When people ask my parents why I'm the only Montoya child without an Antivan-sounding name, they just say that I was named after Sarah Cousland, a prominent but distant ancestor on my mother's side. The real story is much funnier. You see, my older sister Ysabela was six around the time I was born, and to say that she didn't like the idea of being usurped as the baby of the family would be a gross understatement. One day was particularly bad. She just wouldn't stop crying and kicking and screaming. Mama and Papa were hosting a house party at that time, so they offered her sweets, toys, riding lessons with our older brother Tomás—anything to keep her quiet. But she just stomped her feet and declared that the only thing that would satisfy her was to let her name the new baby. Mama and Papa were desperate to placate her, so they agreed. And just like that, she stopped her fit and just... smiled."

"You make it sound rather ominous, lass."

"Tomás says he still gets chills thinking about Ysabela's smile that day. In any case, the Maker decided that I was to come into the world that very night. I was the third child, so Mama's labor was not as difficult. Tomás and Ysabela were allowed to visit Mama's apartments the next morning, and sure enough, Ysabela brought a list of names with her."

"They couldn't have been that bad. What's the worst that a six-year-old could come up with?"

"Poophead, Fartface, Griffonbutt, Darkspawnbreath..."

"... I spoke too soon."

"Papa said Mama was more distressed by the list than she was by the birth. Thank the Maker Ysabela didn't have a more colorful vocabulary, and that she included two decent names at the very bottom. Peter for a boy, and Sarah for a girl."

"That was kind of her."

"You'd think that, but even those names were not entirely without malice. Peter and Sarah were the prize pigs that Ysabela had the honor of naming at the previous year's Summerday festival in Rialto."

"So... Your parents named you after a pig?"

"Yes. Ysabela never let me hear the end of it. She still calls me Piggles in her letters."

"Look on the bright side, lass. At least it was a _prize_ pig."

*****

"... Alright, lass, I give up. You win."

"Don't be discouraged, Sebastian. You won one round out of five against an Antivan, and that is no mean feat, even if you did cheat. How about we call this the last round, to avoid further injury to your pride?"

Sebastian flashed her a wry smile as he gathered the cards back into a neat deck. Despite the fact that he lost four games, he had to admit that he hadn't had this much fun in years.

Sarah stretched her arms upwards, barely stifling her yawn. "Now tell me, Sebastian, what is the secret you saved for last?"

The whiskey caused the blush from her cheeks to migrate south, and the warm firelight rendered her nightgown transparent. He watched her round, rosy breasts rise and fall as she stretched, her nipples clearly outlined against the soft silk. The sight alone made the already painful part of his anatomy ache even more.

_Perhaps I should give it a try._

"I didn't kiss you during the wedding ceremony."

She arched an eyebrow as she folded her arms across her chest. "That's a fact, not a secret. Lord MacLeod told me that in a traditional Starkhaven wedding, all physical contact, even down to touching hands, is postponed until the married couple is alone in their bedchamber. I assumed that was the reason we didn't meet until we were wed."

Sebastian felt a pang of guilt in the pit of his stomach, but he decided it was best not to tell her the real reason yet. The frown in her eyes and her pursed lips told him that the whole practice sounded completely alien to her, and he didn't blame her. Even when it came to the exchange of wedding bands, it was Grand Cleric Francesca who slid the rings on both of them. "Do you know why such a wedding custom exists?"

She tilted her head to the side, her eyes wide with curiosity. "To be perfectly honest, I don't. Lord MacLeod told me about the tradition when I arrived, but so many little problems emerged and had to be resolved. It never occurred to me to ask why. I assume it's supposed to... create tension? A sense of anticipation?"

His brows raised in surprise. _Maker, she's perceptive_. "Yes, actually. Not being able to touch your beloved on the happiest day of your lives can be maddening."

She frowned. "Does that even apply to us? Our marriage was arranged, and we only met today, so I don't see how such a caveat could have a 'maddening' effect on either of us."

Sebastian could feel his heart beat so fast he thought it would burst out of his chest. He gulped.

_How will she react?_

"I'm afraid that's where you're wrong, lass. My secret is I've been wanting to kiss you all day."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Wicked Grace cutscene in Dragon Age: Inquisition is one of my favorites, so you might recognize a few borrowed lines here and there.
> 
> Note on languages:  
> In the Dragon Age games, most Antivan characters (e.g. Zevran from DA:O and Vincento from DA2) speak with Spanish accents—Vincento even says, "Maldición!" which is Spanish for "Damn!" As such, I've added a word or two in Spanish:  
> Pendejo - Idiot; asshole
> 
> Note on lore:  
> While writing this story, I tried to stay faithful to the lore whenever possible. This includes references to other games in the series, codex entries, and word-of-God:  
> -Featured in what might be one of the best cutscenes in Dragon Age: Inquisition, Wicked Grace is a card game that is won by having the best combination of card suits by the time the "Angel of Death" card is drawn. Some of the known suits are songs, serpents, knights, drakes, swords, and angels.  
> -Sarah asks Sebastian if Fereldans love their mabari hounds. Dogs are an essential part of Fereldan culture, and no dog is more prized that the mabari. Prized for their intelligence and loyalty, these dogs are more than mere weapons or status symbols: The hounds choose their masters, and pair with them for life. To be the master of a mabari anywhere in Ferelden is to be recognized instantly as a person of worth.  
> -Sarah also asks if Orlesians wear masks. The Orlesian nobility, and those who serve publicly, wear very intricate masks in public. These masks, often half-masks specifically, are hereditary and identify one's family and social class almost as uniquely as the heraldry on a crest: a family might be associated with a lion crest, and matching lion masks will identify them in public. Retainers and servants wear a simpler form of a family's mask. Family symbols are well known among the Orlesian public, and anyone attempting to wear a mask that doesn't belong to their house runs the risk of a quick death if discovered. In Dragon Age: Inquisition's Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts questline, which is set in Orlais, almost everyone wears masks.  
> -Angelique Lafaille isn't canon, but Ser Michel Lafaille certainly is. He was an Orlesian chevalier who led an army of Orlesians to take back Kirkwall from the Qunari in 7:60 Storm. The city became a part of the Orlesian Empire, and Lafaille became the city's first viscount.  
> -Speaking of the Storm Age, the Chantry calendar is measured in Ages, spanning 99 years. In the 99th year of an Age, the Divine will look to an event or portent in order to determine the name of the coming Age. There have been nine ages thus far (not including the Ancient Age): Divine Age, Glory Age, Towers Age, Black Age, Exalted Age, Steel Age, Storm Age, Blessed Age, Dragon Age.  
> -I used Thedas' calendar, which contains twelve months: Wintermarch, Guardian, Drakonis, Cloudreach, Bloomingtide, Justinian, Solace, August, Kingsway, Harvestmere, Firstfall, and Haring. Five holidays, called annums, take place on the first day of certain months. Sebastian mentions that he looked fetching in Flora's Satinalia dress. Satinalia comes on the first day of Firstfall and is celebrated with raucous feasts, the wearing of masks, and the naming of the town fool as ruler for a day. Sarah also mentions celebrating Summerday in Rialto. Marking the beginning of summer, this annum is celebrated on the first day of Bloomingtide and is a time for celebration and marriage. Boys and girls who are about to come of age wear white tunics and gowns while they march in a grand rocession to the local Chantry, where they are taught the responsibilities of adulthood.  
> -The Scarlet Ribbon isn't canon, but anyone who's played Dragon Age: Origins knows that The Pearl is.  
> -The Pentaghast family, of which Cassandra in Dragon Age: Inquisition is a member, is the royal family of Nevarra. Many Pentaghasts were renowned dragon hunters who brought the creatures to near-extinction in the Steel Age.  
> -It was Starkhaven's Grand Cleric Francesca who slid on the wedding rings for Sarah and Sebastian. We know that Starkhaven had a Grand Cleric named Francesca from a codex letter entry in Dragon Age 2. The letter is undated, so we don't know when exactly Grand Cleric Francesca existed, so I just assumed that she was still Grand Cleric by 9:42 Dragon, when this story takes place.


	4. Close

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things get a bit heated.

Sarah thought the whiskey must have gotten to her head; after all, they finished almost three-quarters of the decanter's contents, albeit that was mostly Sebastian's doing.

"What?" she squeaked. She heard his sharp intake of breath before he spoke again.

"I want to kiss you, Sarah."

_No, definitely not the whiskey. Maker's balls, he's serious._

"I... I..."

_Maker's breath, say something. Anything. What use are all those languages if you can't form one sentence? Hijo de puta._

His crystal blue eyes widened in surprise, as if he only recognized now the words that came out of his mouth. He held his hands out in front of him and shook his head vigorously.

"I-I don't—I mean, I'd like to, b-but it's perfectly fine if you don't want to! We don't have to, but I just wanted you to know that it's on the table—f-figuratively speaking, of course, I d-don't mean I want to kiss you on this table, but ..."

He groaned and placed his elbows on the table, his head in his hands, utterly mortified.

"Maker's breath... Forgive me, lass. It's just that... when I first saw you walking down the aisle, swathed in flowing white silk and lace and mid-day sunshine, you were just so lovely I was thunderstuck. I didn't know... I didn't _think_ you'd be so lovely. By the Maker, I wanted to... Never mind. Forget I said anything, lass."

She was surprised by this side of him—so different from the dignified, upright Prince who dutifully spoke his vows before her in the Starkhaven Cathedral, or the carefree man who regaled her with tales unearthed from his childhood. This man was ill at ease and vulnerable in his need for _her_. But what struck her most was his willingness to banish that need for her comfort.

The fact that she found his honesty and plain decency so compelling painted a desolate landscape of her experience with men. Her past suitors, both homegrown and foreign, had made their desires  known, but not in any way she found pleasant. They resorted to the age-old courtship practice of belligerently plying her with exotic sweetmeats and secondhand verses; one particularly tragic villanelle by the grandiose Ser Juliano of Treviso praised her "eyes like the bluest skies," completely oblivious to the fact that her eyes were dark brown. Worse, they were quick to assume things about her simply because she was a woman: that she would be acquiescent, deferential, and unquestioning towards them simply because they were men. More than one suitor had ended up with an open hand to the face because they could not fathom the idea that perhaps she didn't want their hand creeping up her skirt. And the brute she had been promised to for the past year—and would have married in Harvestmere had it not been for Sebastian's proposal—was the worst of them all.

But Sebastian respected her and her body.

She'd be lying if she said she wasn't tempted by his proposal. He was, after all, a very attractive man. His eyes, in particular, fascinated her; those clear, crystal blue orbs had the curious quality of being sharply intelligent yet warmly gentle at the same time. A girl could drown in those eyes if she wasn't careful.

The rest of his features were distinctly aristocratic, from his strong jaw to his long-fingered hands. The only imperfection she saw in his face was the slight notch where his nose met his forehead, marring what before must have been a perfectly straight nose bridge. His rich auburn hair was slicked back and elegantly cropped, a few locks brushing the back of his neck. Unlike most Starkhaven men, he kept his face clean shaven. His loose linen shirt and trousers did nothing to mute his tall, powerful frame, taut with muscle from years of fighting alongside the famous Champion of Kirkwall and her companions.

She also could not shake off the initial shock from his calling her lovely. Back home in Antiva, "striking" was the word most people used to describe her unusual looks, born of her mixed heritage. She rarely ever heard "lovely" and "beautiful" unless they were in a suitor's hyperbolic verse. She heard those words pertain far more often to her sisters Ysabela and Luisa, who inherited their mother's milky complexion and slender figure—a fact her mother reminded her of almost constantly.

She rose to her feet and walked over to his side of the table. "Sebastian?" She placed a hand on his shoulder and shook gently.

She felt his body flinch at her touch. He raised his head slowly, his eyes betraying his nervous apprehension of her response.

She could feel the heat rise in her cheeks—not from the whiskey this time—as she smiled softly at him. "I think a kiss good night from my husband would be nice."

His eyes widened in sheer disbelief. "A-are you sure, lass? We really don't have to."

Something about his smooth Starkic brogue, especially the way he said "lass," was oddly sensual—seductive, even. She put her hands on her hips, a challenge in her eyes. "Just kiss me, you silly Chantry boy."

For a moment, she thought she had gone too far, but he chuckled and got up to his feet. "Aye, bossy," he said, placing his hands at the small of her back. "Far be it from me to deny my lady a kiss." Humor had saved them once again.

Their bodies weren't even touching, yet her hyperaware senses were filled with him: the heat emanating from his hands,  the soft sound of his breathing, the scent of his soap—clean linen, rain, and something she could only describe as pleasantly woodsy.

She took a deep breath and tilted her face up to him as she placed her hands on his sturdy chest. She didn't notice until then that her hands were trembling.

"Is this your first kiss, lass?" he asked gently.

She shook her head. "No, but it may as well be. My first experiences were... not so pleasant."

She only saw understanding and sympathy in his cerulean eyes as he pulled her close, her breasts touching his chest.

She let out a small gasp—she could already feel his growing desire, cradled against the softness of her belly. A virgin she may be, but a fool she was not. She had, after all, devoted many a sleepless night to Varric Tethras'  _Swords and Shields_ , a romance serial so vulgar it would make even the most consummate courtesan blush. She knew how much he wanted her.

And she wanted him back.

He lowered his head until their lips were mere inches apart.

"I'm sorry your previous experiences weren't good ones, lass, but perhaps this one will be better."

*****

Sebastian remembered fairly well the last time he kissed a woman. The illicit kiss with a coquettish serving girl from the Hanged Man in the shadows of a Lowtown alley had been rushed, giving him enough time to run back for the dawn Chant. He was at the tail-end of his days as a libertine, and that kiss was less a rebellion against his parents and Grand Cleric Elthina, as his previous dalliances were, and more a form of reassurance that he was right to turn his back on his old life. The kiss, as he expected, had been superficial and dissatisfying. It was nothing compared to the peace and fulfillment he felt sitting at the worn oak pews of the Kirkwall Chantry, surrounded by the warm glow of candlelight, the heady fragrance of incense smoke, and the quiet prayers of the faithful.

But had his last kiss all those years ago been with his wife, he might have reconsidered completely. He had intended it to be a chaste, reassuring kiss, but he could not find it in himself to pull away from her. Not when her lips were so achingly soft and sweet. Not when her evocative lavender-and-vanilla scent wreathed through his senses and made his head spin. Not when all of her soft, luscious curves fit perfectly against him, as if by the Maker's own design.

She sighed softly against his lips as he felt her relax in his arms, the last of her initial tension melting away. Her forearms, which she had lain passively on his chest, now snaked up around his neck, pulling him even closer. If she hadn't felt his painfully rigid length yet, pressing into her belly, she'd definitely feel it now.

_Maker's breath._

He felt his confidence rise as his mouth remembered all of its old tricks. His tongue traced and teased her bottom lip, begging entry into the sweet cavern of her mouth. She parted her lips with a moan, and his tongue surged in, tangling with hers as he deepened the kiss further. He didn't trust his rakish senses—dormant for so long until now—enough to move his hands beyond the small of her back. He bunched up the silk of her peignoir in his fists to keep his hands from straying downward to the ample globes of her derriere. He wasn't sure if it was his tongue or his hands that surprised her, but one of them did, because he heard her squeak.

_Careful, Vael. You'll scare her and push her away. Remember the last time you scared a woman away?_

Sebastian froze. Even if it wasn't real, even if it was just in his head, he knew that voice anywhere. It was the voice that had been haunting him for the last five years.

Marian.

_Let her go, Vael. You'll only hurt her, the way you hurt me._

"Sebastian? What is it? Is something wrong?"

Sebastian blinked and looked down to see Sarah's concerned face. He was so stricken he didn't even realize that he had pulled away from her.

"I... No, lass, everything is fine. I... I think we should go to sleep now. It's getting late, and we've both had a long day."

"What? But—"

He turned and walked away without waiting for her reply, purposely taking long strides. He knew it was not right of him, but he couldn't bear to see the shock—or worse, the disappointment—on her face. He crossed the room to the window seat and knelt down. "You go ahead and sleep, lass," he called over his shoulder, "I'll join you after my evening prayers, but I might take a while. Take the side closest to the fire, if you wish."

Sebastian kept his eyes trained on the rose garden outside the window and prayed that Sarah wouldn't pursue the conversation any further. He was too weak, too cowardly to argue with her.

After what seemed like an entire Age, he heard her quiet footsteps walk towards bed. "Good night, Sebastian," she said, her voice as cold as the wind that blustered through the Frostback Mountains. There was no fondness there, none of the warmth they had shared earlier.

And he deserved it.

He sighed and closed his eyes, his lips mouthing the opening verses of the Canticle of Trials from memory, yet tonight, his heart was not in it. It suddenly occurred to him that he hadn't thought about Marian all day until now.

_Why must you torment me today of all days, Marian? Are you not done punishing me yet?_

What he and Sarah needed now was distance. She might be hurt by his indifference at first, but she would move on. For her own sake, so long as he was bound by Marian's memory, he would not let Sarah get attached to him. He would not burden her with his demons. Not if he could still protect her.

*****

Sarah shivered as she laid down on the uninvitingly cold bed, the autumn chill sinking into her bones despite the roaring fire and the blanket of thick red fleece that covered the enormous bed.

_This bed is far too large for two people, let alone one person. How lonely it must be, to sleep here alone._

With her back turned away from Sebastian, she replayed the kiss over and over in her head. Did she do something that displeased him? Did she show too much passion? Too little?

No, it couldn't be.

She _knew_ that he wanted her badly, and she had done nothing to prompt his sudden coldness. His behavior made no sense, and that frustrated her. All her life, she had been taught by her tutors and professors that reason could explain practically anything, and for the most, they were right.

But reason couldn't explain why he wanted her one moment and wanted nothing to do with her the next. Reason couldn't explain the invisible wall that suddenly closed him off from her. Reason couldn't explain the heaviness in her heart or the hot, angry tears that stung her eyes, even though she had only met him earlier that day.

Perhaps it had been wrong to be hopeful about her marriage. Perhaps she should honor his choice and maintain her distance. Perhaps she should just be thankful that she was married to Sebastian and not  _him_.

_No, this isn't you. You don't give up that easily, not when your happiness is at stake._

She hadn't missed the way his eyes darted from side to side or the way he scratched the back of his neck when he told her everything was fine. He had exhibited the same habits when he bluffed—or tried to bluff—during their games of Wicked Grace. Everything was decidedly _not_ fine with him, and he was hiding the reason why. 

Sarah groaned and buried her face in her pillow. Sebastian must have his reasons—ones that reason might not be able to understand. But  _she will_  understand when he tells her, and by the Maker _he_ _will_  tell her, sooner rather than later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note on languages:  
> In the Dragon Age games, most Antivan characters (e.g. Zevran from DA:O and Vincento from DA2) speak with Spanish accents—Vincento even says, "Maldición!" which is Spanish for "Damn!" As such, I've added a word or two in Spanish:  
> Hijo de puta - son of a bitch
> 
> Note on lore:  
> While writing this story, I tried to stay faithful to the lore whenever possible. This includes references to other games in the series, codex entries, and word-of-God:  
> -While Ser Juliano, one of Sarah's ill-fated suitors, isn't canon, the city of Treviso certainly is. Like most Antivan cities, it lies on the coast of the Rialto Bay.  
> -I used Thedas' calendar, which contains twelve months: Wintermarch, Guardian, Drakonis, Cloudreach, Bloomingtide, Justinian, Solace, August, Kingsway, Harvestmere, Firstfall, and Haring. Five holidays, called annums, take place on the first day of certain months. Sarah mentions that she would have gotten married to a certain suitor in Harvestmere, had it not been for Sebastian's proposal.  
> -One of the companion quests in Dragon Age: Inquisition features Swords and Shields, a series of smutty romance novels written by Varric Tethras and featuring a guard captain who bears a striking resemblance to Aveline Vallen. It appears to be released periodically, in chapters.  
> -The Canticle of Trials is said to be a collection of hymns composed by Andraste in praise of the Maker. The verses from Trials are the most beloved and often-quoted lines of the Chant of Light. I felt that this particular Canticle was fitting in this situation, because the verses are meant to provide comfort for the suffering, but tonight, Sebastian feels no comfort in those words.


	5. Exposed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our newlyweds get a few things of their chests, in one way or another.

"Sebastian. Sebastian. Sebastian!"

Sebastian woke up to Sarah's hand shaking his shoulder. He could hear the tumult of an autumn storm brewing outside, beating relentlessly against the palatial windows of their shared bedchamber. It was still dark, but he could make her out by the light of the dying fire and the occasional flash of lightning. She was kneeling next to him on their bed, genuine concern suffusing her features. In sleep, the sleeve of her nightgown had slipped of her shoulder, exposing more of her golden skin, but she paid it no attention, so neither would he.

"You were tossing and turning. Did you have a nightmare?" she asked, her hand stroking gently over his arm. He tried to ignore how nice it felt. Despite the promise he made to himself earlier to keep his distance from her, he couldn't bring himself to refuse her comforting touch.

"Aye, lass, but I'm alright. Did I wake you?"

Her lips tightened into a thin line—the kind of expression a parent gave a child when they didn't know how to tell them a beloved pet died.

"Well, y-yes, you might have accidentally... kneed me in your sleep."

He felt the color drain from his face. "Maker, no... I'm so sorry, Sarah. I should sleep somewhere else, lass. I don't want to hurt you again." He pushed the covers away and swung his legs over the side of the bed, moving to get up.

"Sebastian, wait."

He turned around and looked at his wife, arms crossed over her chest and frown fixed firmly in place. "You're not going anywhere until you tell me what is bothering you."

He frowned right back at her. "Believe me, lass, my nightmares are the least of your concerns. You would not find what I have to say very pleasant."

Her eyes narrowed. "Since when were nightmares ever pleasant, Sebastian? And it's not just your nightmares that concern me."

He averted his gaze. "I don't know what you mean."

She scoffed. "What did you say earlier during Wicked Grace? 'Lying is a sin in the Maker's eyes.' Well, I may not be the most devout Andrastian, but I am not stupid. You know exactly what I'm talking about. How you could want me so desperately one second and discard me the next."

He shifted uncomfortably. It didn't feel right, lying to her, but he knew he had to. "That was a mistake. My mind was clouded by lust and poor judgment, but by the Maker's strength I have been purged of such impure thoughts."

For a moment, her eyes flared with such fury that if looks could kill, he'd be dead and rotting in the Void by now. But just as quickly as it came, the anger in her eyes vanished and was replaced by something infinitely more dangerous.

Knowing.

_Sweet Andraste, she's not falling for any of this._

"I see. So the Maker has ridden you of _all_ imprudent desires, correct?" she asked in a low voice, pushing the red blanket away from her body.

_What in the Void is she planning?_

"Y-yes, that's correct."

She smiled wickedly. "Then naturally, it wouldn't matter to you or the Maker if I did this?"

She raised her hands to her nightgown's décolletage, tracing the delicate lace edge with her fingers before undoing the pearl button at the top. That small action sent a familiar pulsing ache to his groin, but for both their sakes, he was determined to ignore it.

"N-no, not at all."

"Maker be praised." The words that left her lips might have been a benediction, but her sultry, mellifluous voice evoked all the alluring temptation of sin. "And surely, a little more would make no difference?"

Her fingers drifted lower, and slipping the second button free from its mooring.

Then the third.

Then the fourth.

Try as he might to resist, his eyes followed the trail of golden skin left in her fingers' wake. What would her skin feel like under his hands? Would it be as soft as his treacherous mind imagined it to be, like the silken petals of a rose, fully blossomed on a warm Bloomingtide morning? His fingers suddenly itched to find out. 

_Maker, this won't end well._

They both knew that all she had to do was push the halves of her gown aside and he would _crumble_.

He averted his eyes just in time before her fingers reached the last button just above her waist. "Alright, lass! I'll tell you whatever you want, but for the love of Andraste, I beg you, _stop tormenting me._ "

With his gaze still firmly glued to the floor, he felt rather then saw her smirk, equal parts triumphant and indignant. "So you _do_ desire me."

He swallowed a bitter laugh. "You're a smart lass, so that much should be obvious."

"Then _why_ did you suddenly turn me away if you wanted me so much, Sebastian? _Why_ did you _lie_ to me?" She didn't say as much, but the tone of her voice made it patently clear that she would suffer no falsehoods from him, and Maker have mercy on his soul if he even tried.

_Andraste preserve me._

He sat a few feet away from her on the bed as she gathered the thick red fleece blanket to her chest. The deep crimson caught his eye, conjuring memories of the day that assailed his dreams every night.

The day that Marian marched out of his life for good.

"Because of a memory. Do you remember the day the Kirkwall Chantry was destroyed?"

******

_Dark red blood pooled around Anders, now a lifeless corpse on the ground. The stab wound in his back had killed the renegade mage within seconds. Grand Cleric Elthina and countless others perished when he destroyed the Kirkwall Chantry, Maker rest their souls, but he would hurt no more innocents._

_Sebastian turned to Marian, who was wiping the blood off the dagger she used to take Anders' life. "Thank you, Marian, I—"_

_She glared at him, her bright green eyes ablaze with vindictive fury. "It's Hawke to you, Vael." She spat his name out like venom._

_Sebastian felt his lungs seize. "Maker, I didn't mean—"_

_She sheathed her dagger and retrieved her mage's staff from where she had left it on the ground. "But you did. You threatened to leave and raise an army to crush Kirkwall—my home—if I didn't make Anders pay for his crimes. And now he has. At least one good thing came from his treachery: I know where your true allegiance lies, and it isn't with me."_

_"But I wouldn't have left you! I... I was carried away by grief. By rage. But I swear to the Maker and his Bride, I will stay with you until the very end. I love you, Marian."_

_Her gaze turned murderous, her knuckles turning white from how tightly she was gripping her staff. "It's Hawke, and it's too late for that now. I have no need for any more of your empty vows, weather vane." She bit her lower lip as she fought back her tears, her eyes betraying another emotion within the turbulent emerald depths: inconsolable, heart-rending grief._

_Grief for the innocent lives lost in the Chantry. Grief for the friend who died by her hand. Grief for the carnage that would soon befall the city she called home for the last few years._

_And something else._

_"After all I've done for you, after everything we've been through, you couldn't trust me to do the right thing. I would have done anything for you. Anything and everything, but you had to..."_

_There it was. Sebastian saw it in those eyes that could lie to the most perceptive interrogator, but never to her friends. She loved him, and she mourned the loss of everything they could have been, but could never be, because of his impetuous stupidity._

_She shook her head, unwilling to compromise herself any further. "Now, you can stay and fight the Templars with us, or you can sod off for all I fucking care. But if you ever call me Marian again, I swear to your Maker I will burn your skin off."_

_And with that, she turned around and marched off, her flaxen braid swaying behind her. He felt a hand pull at his arm, as if to dissuade him from pursuing her._

_"Let her go, Choir Boy," Varric said, slinging his crossbow Bianca over his shoulder._ _"Maybe the next time you confess your love to a girl, the timing will be better."_

*****

"... Please say something, Sarah."

Sarah didn't know what to say. She had wanted so badly to know the reason behind his sudden coldness, and now that she knew, she didn't know how to feel. Pity? Pain?

Was it even rational for her to feel pain?

No, it was not.

But since when was the heart ever completely rational?

"Do you know where she is now?" she asked, trying to keep her tone as even as possible.

He shook his head. "I tried to locate her when I ascended the throne, but she has the rare and uncanny gift of being untraceable when she wishes it. She is, after all, an apostate; she's lived most of her life on the run from Templars. The last time I heard of her, she was helping Inquisitor Trevelyan with the Breach. Apparently, she left Skyhold in the Frostback Mountains for Weisshaupt Fortress. Other than that, I know nothing of her whereabouts."

She furrowed her brow. "Weisshaupt... That's the ancient Grey Warden headquarters in the Anderfels, no? That's thousands of miles away, even from here. And from down south in the Frostbacks, even farther."

He nodded. "Then you can see why it's so hard to locate her, even if she wanted to be found. And she definitely does not want to be found by me."

She bit her lip, reconsidering the question on the tip of her tongue. She knew that she would in all likelihood not like his answer, but some part of her yearned to know.

The same part of her that, much to her chagrin, felt that irrational pain.

"Do you still love her?"

His shoulders sagged, the expression on his face one of profound grief and heartache; had she not known him, she could have easily mistaken him for a widower in full mourning.

"Truthfully? I don't know, lass. Not a day goes by that I do not think of her or regret how we parted. But love? I cannot say. A part of me still... misses her. Still longs for all that we could have been, had I not been such a fool."

_Ah. There it is._

" _Saudade_ ," she said softly.

"Pardon?"

"In the western reaches of Antiva, they have a word for what you feel. _Saudade_. There is no word that quite captures its nuance in the King's Tongue, but it is the ache you feel for something that once was, but can never be again. It is the love that remains."

At that, she sensed some of the tension ease in his brow—perhaps more from realization than relief—as he gave her a small smile. "By Andraste's ashes, trust the Antivans to have names for the most specific of emotions."

"We Antivans are a very passionate people. Did no one tell you when you proposed to me?" She returned his smile with one of her own, though it pained her. Of course he still harbored feelings for the Champion of Kirkwall. How could she compete with such a woman, who could, if she wished, bring an entire nation to its knees with a mere flick of her wrist? How could anyone? Sarah may be Sebastian's wife, but she had only known him for a day; meanwhile, he had carried the Champion in his heart for years. 

_Wait a moment._

"If you still... have feelings for the Champion of Kirkwall, why did you propose marriage to me?"

He sighed. "My Seneschal Roderick—Lord MacLeod—has the persistence to try the patience of the Divine herself. Ever since I became Prince, he would drop none too subtle hints about the imperativeness of my finding a Princess and siring an heir to secure the Vael line. 'Princes are not destined for chastity,' he'd always say. After all, much blood was shed to reclaim my throne from my cousin Goran. I would not risk another civil war and see more lives lost should I go to the Maker without an heir."

"But why _me_?"

"Maker's breath, lass, are you thinking of an annulment so soon?" He tried to disguise his words with an amused tone, but she saw his eyes dart quickly from side to side while he scratched the back of his neck.

His tells were too obvious. He was hiding something from her.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "We shall see. _Why me_?"

He averted his gaze like a boy caught with his hand in the biscuit tin. "Well, y-you see lass... I chose you... a-at random."

"You _what_?!"

*****

It had been years since Sebastian was last on the receiving end of a woman's wrath. After all, most of the important women in his life were no longer with him.

His mother.

Old Aggie.

Grand Cleric Elthina.

Marian—no, she was just Hawke to him now. He had to get used to that fact.

He definitely did not anticipate incurring his wife's fury less than a day into their marriage. Not that he blamed her. After all, not only did she just find out that he had sentenced her to a loveless marriage, but also that he had done so by accident.

"What do you mean you chose me _at random_?" she demanded, her voice high-pitched and livid.

Sebastian gulped. "A-about three months ago, I finally gave in to Roderick's prodding and asked him to find suitable candidates for my bride. I underestimated his enthusiasm; a month later, he came to my study with a huge stack of dossiers on every eligible lady within two-weeks' travel from Starkhaven. I tried reading a few of them, but there were just so many, I decided to reach into the middle of the stack and pick one at random." He had rushed through his words, too panicked to pause for breath.

"And the dossier you pulled out was mine."

He nodded.

A deathly quiet descended over their bedchamber, interrupted only by the ominous clap of thunder from the storm outside.

_Maker have mercy on me, for I will get none from her._

He lowered his head and braced himself for the vicious onslaught that would soon befall him.

The vicious onslaught of her laughter.

_Andraste's flaming sword, why is she laughing?_

He let her continue for all of ten seconds, weighing the consequences of prematurely interrupting her before he finally decided to say something.

"Forgive me if I'm missing something, lass, but what is so funny?"

She managed to quell her sudden outburst—with much difficulty, it seemed—but the remnants of her laughter still sparkled in her eyes. "What is so funny? Why, everything!"

Had she sprouted a second head, or turned him into a toadstool, he would have been less surprised than he was at her reply. "Care to enlighten me?"

She chuckled. "Yes, of course you're confused. I don't blame you. Did you ever wonder why I agreed to marry you even though I had never met you?"

He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. "To be honest, no, I didn't. You and your family said yes and that was enough for me."

Her smile faded slightly as she drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, her fingers playing idly with the red wool blanket. "I agreed to marry you to save myself from a life of certain misery."

He opened his mouth to say something but before he could speak, she raised a finger to stop him. "Please, it will be best if I start from the beginning."

He closed his mouth and nodded.

"I mentioned before that I did not have the best experience with suitors. Because of my family's wealth, offers for my hand started coming before I turned sixteen, and at that age, I found my books far more enticing than marriage, and I said as much to their faces."

He smiled. "I can believe that."

His reward was a small pillow hurled in his direction, which he deftly evaded.

"Well, Maker forgive me for being honest. As the years went by, I incurred a reputation as a bit of a shrew. The offers stopped coming, and I was perfectly happy."

Then her smile wavered. "My parents, however, were not. Mama could be particularly merciless. 'What use is your intellect if it doesn't help you find a husband? You have neither Ysabela's delicate beauty or Luisa's effortless grace.' I thought my time studying in Denerim and Val Royeaux would be a reprieve, but Mama still found ways to criticize me from afar. If it wasn't a disparaging letter, it was one of her connections at court, telling me to go easy on the Blessed Apples, lest I swell up like the late Duchesse de Val Montaigne who died unmarried and surrounded by her seven cats."

He frowned and took her right hand in his, brushing his thumb gently over her knuckles. "No girl should ever have to hear that, least of all from her own mother. For what it's worth, I think you're beautiful."

She gave him a soft, sad smile as she patted his hand. "Not in Antiva, which has always looked to Orlais for fashion. For many seasons now, alabaster skin and a svelte, willowy figure have been the vogue, and as you can see, I have neither. Over time I learned to love my body, but it was difficult when someone constantly reminded me that I was never enough."

He raised her hand to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss on her knuckles. "You're more than enough, lass. Don't you ever think otherwise."

She averted her gaze when her cheeks turned beet red. "Thank you. Truly."

She slipped her hand from his and went back to toying with the blanket. "In any case, the final straw for Mama was when my younger sister Luisa got engaged in Wintermarch this year. I don't know how it is in Starkhaven, but in Antiva, it is customary for the elder siblings to marry before the younger ones do. When a younger sister marries before her older sister, well... People start to talk."

A sudden flash of lightning flooded their bedchamber with light, making her flinch with surprise. He could feel her unease at the memory, from the rigid set of her shoulders to her fingers clenched tightly at the blanket. "My parents couldn't afford to have such a blemish on our family's pristine reputation, so on Wintersend they wasted no time arranging my marriage to Luciano Caldera, the son of one of Papa's newest business associates, recently returned after finishing his studies in Nevarra."

She hugged her knees more tightly to her chest. "Luciano was... awful. Handsome, yes, but by the Maker, was he awful. When he came to call on me at home, he was intolerably rude. Once, he threw a goblet of wine at a servant because it was an Antivan port, not a Tevinter port. And he made no secret of his lecherous intent. Whenever he looked at me, I couldn't help but feel like a piece of meat on a butcher's block. I think that was how he truly saw me. It was sickening."

Sebastian was surprised at the sudden rush of cold rage that made his fists clench and his jaw tighten.

_Did he touch her? Did that mhac na galla hurt her?_

She seemed to read his mind, because she added, "He would try to touch me, and I would always protest. I pushed him. Yelled at him. Even slapped him once. But that did not deter him. If anything, it... drove him harder. As if I was a wild filly, waiting for him to break me in."

She sighed as she loosened her grip on the blanket and laced her fingers over her ankles. "I asked my parents to find me someone else—that I would marry anyone as long as it wasn't Luciano. But by that time, my shrewish reputation made it difficult to find men who were willing to marry me, and Papa was already eager to cement the new alliance between our two families. I tried to tell them that Luciano was horrible, but they didn't believe me; around them, he was the soul of propriety and charm. I was set to marry Luciano in Harvestmere this year. Then your proposal came six weeks ago."

She met his gaze again, her rich brown eyes alive with emotion. "I didn't know why it came all of a sudden. I didn't know much about you, short of what I read in the Tale of the Champion. And I didn't know much about Starkhaven; I know a little of its history and culture, but I had never even been here until now. But I did know what I had to do. If I had to obey my parents and marry, I would do so on _my_ terms. So instead of dooming myself to a life of certain misery with Luciano, I decided to stake my happiness on a complete stranger. On you."

"How did your parents react?"

"They were quite thrilled, actually. They never imagined that one of their children would be marrying into royalty, least of all me. It wasn't too difficult to explain to the Calderas, either—after all, how does one refuse a Prince?"

He couldn't help but smile. "Well, you know now from my story that it _is_ in fact possible to refuse a Prince."

She chuckled. "That brings me to your very first question. What is so funny about our situation? If you ask me—everything. I find it funny how your unexpected proposal came precisely at the time I needed it most. I find it funny how it came because you chose me at random from, as you said, a large pool of other ladies. I find it funny how after you accidentally saved me from Luciano, I now have the opportunity to save you."

"Save me? From what?"

"From a life lived under the shadow of regret. A life barely worth living." She pushed the blanket away and rose up to her knees, placing her palms on either side of his face. "Don't you see? Call it the Maker's grace, or fate, or pure dumb luck—but we've both been fortunate enough to be given a second chance at happiness. Let's not squander it."

He turned his head away sheepishly, as a sinner does before a Revered Mother. "Do I even deserve to be happy, lass? After what I did?"

She gently turned his head to face her again. "Tell me, Sebastian. If you could tell the Champion anything, what would it be?"

"I... I'd tell her how sorry I was for threatening to leave her, and that I'd do anything to earn her forgiveness. That I tried to do right by her, by helping rebuild Kirkwall. It was once her home and mine; I couldn't bare to watch it languish."

He took a deep breath before continuing. "I'd also tell her I'm sorry I made her kill Anders. Grand Cleric Elthina was strongly against me seeking vengeance for my family's deaths. She wouldn't have wanted Anders to die on her account. 'Death is never justice,' she once said. But I was mad from sorrow and bitter anger. And because of that, his blood is on my hands."

"And what's stopping you from telling her all of this right now?"

"I can't find her. Believe me, I've tried, but she doesn't want to be found."

"Then of course you deserve to be happy. You're a good man, Sebastian, and good people deserve to thrive, not just survive. And you cannot thrive when you're miserable."

She held his gaze, daring him to gainsay her. Her eyes were alight with so bright a fire that he knew it would physically pain him to see it extinguished.

It was this realization that made his next words so difficult.

"Lass, I... I don't know if I can love you. I cannot promise you that."

The fire in her eyes flickered for a second, but continued to burn. "I'm not asking you to love me. In time, love may come, or it may not. What I _am_ asking, though, is for you to take a chance at happiness. With me." She stroked his cheek gently with the pad of her thumb. "What do you say?"

Her last words were soft, barely above a whisper, but they were the final swing of the hammer that sent the wall he had erected between them crumbling down. He no longer saw any point in denying her. And himself.

He held his hands out in supplication. "You win again, lass. For the fifth time tonight."

She laughed and raised her eyes heavenward. "Thank the Maker."

It didn't matter whether it was the first or the tenth time he heard her laugh tonight—the effect it had on his heart had not waned.

"Forgive me, lass, but it's been a while since I've allowed myself to be happy. You'll have to teach me where to start."

She pondered his words for the span of a heartbeat before her lips curved in an impish smile. She swung her leg over his lap so that she was straddling him, his rapidly hardening bulge pressed against the soft V of her thighs.

_Maker preserve us, this woman will be the death of me._

"How about we start here?"

And before he could answer, she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his.

_But what a joyous death it will be._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was initially supposed to be just five chapters long, but this chapter turned out to be longer than I expected. While playing Dragon Age 2, it bothered me that you couldn't react more negatively to Sebastian threatening to leave you, especially if you're romancing him. I mean, you avenge the murder of his family, you bring him into your own ragtag family of misfits to make up for the one he lost, and you give his life a renewed sense of purpose (whether it's reclaiming his throne or dedicating his life to his faith), and then he threatens to leave you (and he actually does!) if you don't kill Anders? If I were Hawke, I'd be fucking pissed at him. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, and as always, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated! :)
> 
> Note on languages:  
> In the Dragon Age games, most characters from Starkhaven (e.g. Sebastian and Rylen from DA:I) have Scottish accents. As such, I've added a few words in Scottish Gaelic:  
> Mhac na galla - Bastard
> 
> Note on lore:  
> While writing this story, I tried to stay faithful to the lore whenever possible. This includes references to other games in the series, codex entries, and word-of-God:  
> -I used Thedas' calendar, which contains twelve months: Wintermarch, Guardian, Drakonis, Cloudreach, Bloomingtide, Justinian, Solace, August, Kingsway, Harvestmere, Firstfall, and Haring. Five holidays, called annums, take place on the first day of certain months. Sarah was engaged to Luciano on Wintersend, which is celebrated on the first day of Guardian. In some areas in the south, the holiday is a day for the arrangement of marriages. Granted, the Montoyas are from Antiva in the north, but Sarah's mother was from Ferelden in the south—it's not a stretch to imagine that she'd adhere to such a tradition. Another holiday called Satinalia comes on the first day of Firstfall and is celebrated with raucous feasts, the wearing of masks, and the naming of the town fool as ruler for a day.  
> -Sarah mentions Blessed Apples, which are pies made with apples from the orchards of Ghislain, supposedly blessed by the Maker at Andraste's request.  
> -Sebastian mentions that he helped rebuild Kirkwall. Depending on your choices in Dragon Age 2, you might get a war table operation in Dragon Age: Inquisition called Aiding Kirkwall, where your Inquisitor receives a letter from Sebastian, asking for your help to rebuild Kirkwall after the destruction caused by the mage rebellion.


	6. Release

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our newlyweds find solace in each other.

 

Tonight, Sarah would become Sebastian's wife in every sense of the word. That much was obvious to them.

What wasn't so obvious—to Sarah, at least—was how it would unfold. She had only ever heard whispers of Sebastian's hedonistic past; a good number of ladies from different royal courts had mourned their loss when he entered the Chantry and took an oath of chastity.

Tonight, she would find out why.

_"I will lay down everything I know about pleasure at your feet."_

He had said so earlier. The very thought made her shiver in anticipation. His strong arms encircled her possessively, pressing her soft curves flush against his solid chest. He had kissed her once before, but now he wanted—craved—more. His lips firmed, pressed, demanded; she yielded gladly, parting her lips with a soft moan.

He must have kissed scores of women in his rakehell days, but none held a candle to her fire, her passion. Though she was as yet an innocent in this sphere, she was patently eager to please and be pleased, acting entirely from instinct. Her body moved like a lithe wave in a slow, erotic dance that could have been in the repertoire of the infamous Veridium Bull in Llomeryn. She began by rubbing her luscious breasts against his chest, then she flexed her spine, pressing her waist and her stomach against his body before grinding her hips forward to caress his rock-hard bulge.

He'd be a fool to think he could withstand the turbulent waves of lascivious passion that swallowed them both; all he could do was drown. Drown in the taste of fire and sun-warmed honey on her tongue. Drown in the lavender and vanilla scent that lingered irresistibly on her skin and seeped into his veins like _vallaslin_.

Drown in _her_.

All earlier apprehension was reduced to ash. All that remained—all that mattered—was the desire that threatened to consume them both in its flames.

She was the first to break the kiss, gasping for air. He seized the opportunity to trail one hand upward, his thumb stroking the side of her right breast. Her nightgown was still open from earlier, and the slight movement of his thumb made the opened placket shift.

A small grin crossed his lips. "You're wearing too much clothing, _leannan_."

She laughed as she lowered her hands from his face to his chest. "Well, so are you. What does _leannan_ mean?"

He smiled. "It's a Starkic term of endearment that means 'dear' or 'sweetheart.' My parents used to call each other that."

Her fingers set to work on the buttons on his nightshirt. "It sounds lovely. I've barely heard a word of Starkic since I arrived. I think I heard one of your lords call Lord Otranto a... _cacan_? Whatever that means, I'm guessing it isn't pleasant."

His chest shook as he let out a hearty laugh. "You guessed right. No one really speaks Starkic anymore, unless it's to curse or compliment someone. My grandfather used to say that Starkic is a language that loves and loathes in equal measure."

"And you dare call Antivans emotional," she said with mock indignation as her fingers reached the bottom button. She pushed the halves of his shirt aside, placing her hands flat against the expanse of his broad chest, lightly dusted with fine auburn hair. He shrugged out of his shirt and tossed it aside, letting her explore her newfound territory. Her touch was inquisitively gentle over his heated skin, lingering on the taut muscles of his arms. Every caress, every sweep of her palm over his bare skin only reminded him that he was half-naked already while she was not.

And it was driving him insane.

"Your turn, _leannan_ ," he rasped, his fists balled tightly in the sheets to exercise restraint.

Hours ago, she might have been nervous. Hesitant. Embarrassed. But now, she felt none of those—only an incredible sense of rightness.

Without a word, she gripped the hem of her nightgown and pulled it over her head, tossing it aside to join his nightshirt.

Leaving her completely naked in his lap.

She felt a peculiar sense of pride from the way his intense gaze raked over her body—over her heavy, succulent breasts tipped in dusky brown, her gently rounded belly, the evocative flare of her hips, and down to the soft, glistening flesh at the apex of her shapely thighs.

Fully dressed in her wedding finery, with his mother's golden circlet atop her head, she was every inch a proper Princess of Starkhaven. Naked, with her lustrous black hair flowing behind her like a living veil, she was a goddess among mortal women.

Gently—reverently—he set his hands on either side of her neck, his fingers brushing against her silky black locks. He let his hands slip down, over her collarbone and her shoulders, before he paused and met her gaze, a question in his eyes.

No words were necessary. She nodded.

He cupped his hands around her swollen breasts, and she gasped, his touch a fire-hot brand on her bare, sensitized skin. He kneaded, and she moaned. To his surprise—and her delight—years of disuse had done nothing to dull his sexual finesse. When his skilled fingers found the peaks, already puckered tight, and squeezed, she had to bite her lip to suppress her cries of pleasure.

He chuckled, his adept fingers not easing up on their torture. "It's alright, _leannan_. No one will hear."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Even if I scream?" she asked, with a smile of feigned innocence.

She yelped in surprise when he grabbed her waist and flipped her over so she was pinned beneath him.

"Yes," he growled, before capturing her lips in another searing kiss. Despite having left the Chantry for years now, he had still kept the primal, animalistic part of his nature shackled and guarded, but she lured it forth with unabashed ease, her every sigh a siren song. That part of him wanted to relish every sound he could draw from her lips. Every soft whimper. Every shattered moan. Every rapturous scream.

He lowered his body carefully onto hers, deliberately letting his chest abrade her aching breasts, and she wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him closer as she deepened the kiss. She was intoxicating, like heady Orlesian mulled wine on Satinalia, and Maker was he parched.

"Trust me, _leannan_ ," he whispered against her lips when he pulled away from the kiss, eliciting a soft sound of protest from her. His lips cruised over the smooth column of her throat, lingering at the point where her pulse thundered, before moving to the creamy upper swells of her breasts.

A chorus of her wanton moans and frantic pleas to the Maker echoed throughout their bedchamber when he took one tightly rucked nipple into the ardent heat of his mouth. He gripped her hips and settled to worship her in this way, licking, laving, and sucking languidly as she arched beneath him, her fingers clenched tightly around his skull. Just when she thought she had gotten used to the novel sensation, he switched his attention to her other breast and began the sweet torture anew.

"You're positively succulent, _leannan_ ," he said as he pressed a last kiss to her swollen peak, "but I wonder if you taste just as sweet elsewhere."

Her eyes widened—from shock as much as lustful curiousity. " _Venga_ , you cannot mean..." Her words died as her gaze fell to his ultimate destination.

"Oh, but I do," he said softly as he trailed kisses over her soft belly, stopping short of the smooth, bare skin just above her nether lips.

"Do you usually keep yourself so smooth here, _leannan_?" he asked gently, looking up at her.

Blushing furiously, she propped herself up on her elbows to meet his crystal-blue gaze. "Sometimes. I usually just keep the hair trimmed short, but Mama... She insisted that I should be bare. For tonight." She cocked her head inquistively to the side. "Does it matter?" She tried to hide it, but he heard the wisps of doubt and worry in her voice.

"No, it does not," he said reassuringly. And truthfully, it didn't. After all, it was _her_ body; she could do whatever she damn well pleased to the hair on her own body. She swallowed a gasp when he placed his hands on her thighs and spread them wide, exposing her soft lips, already slick and swollen with her arousal. He traced her entrance with one finger and found the swollen bundle of nerves at the top, making her cry out sharply, her doubts swiftly forgotten. He bent his head and dotted featherlight kisses down her sensitive inner thigh, and smiled knowingly when he heard her giggle; he would need to keep track of his wife's ticklish spots for future reference. "For I am fairly certain," he continued, tracing the same path on her other thigh, "that you will taste just as sweet either way." And without further warning, he dragged his tongue langorously across her wet, swollen folds.

Again, and again, and again, before he flicked his tongue against her sensitive pearl.

His reward was an ecstatic scream, followed by a flurry of Antivan curses. She tasted so sweet, like watered-down honey, and he was content to remain there, sampling her nectar until she blossomed for him. As he lapped and sucked at her petal-soft lips, he watched with utter fascination at the way she arched her body and tossed her head back in sheer abandon. The way she raised her shaking legs in the air instinctually. The way her fingers scrambled at anything within reach—the red fleece blanket, his pillow, her hair.

She couldn't help it; she needed something—anything—to anchor her against the tide of rapture that was poised to sweep her away. It very nearly did, when, without his mouth leaving her, he slid his middle finger inside her tight, slick channel.

It took every ounce of her strength and willpower to cling to her wits as he pumped his finger in and out of her. "So fucking wet and hot," he murmured in praise as he slid another finger inside.

"D-do you w-worship the M-Maker with that f-f-filthy mouth?" she choked out in between sobs.

He laughed, low and gravelly, recalling their game of Wicked Grace when she had asked the same question. "Call it blasphemy, _leannan_ , but right now I would much rather worship _you_ with my _fucking_ filthy mouth."

And he proceeded to do so with renewed vigor, sucking on her excruciatingly sensitive button while his fingers tapped relentlessly at the spongy flesh of her hidden sweetspot. She speared her fingers through his hair and clutched tightly, moaning his name as her head thrashed against the pillows. No other sound—not even the Chant of Light—was more sacred to Sebastian than his name on her lips.

He could tell by the way her inner walls began to pulse around his fingers that she was dangerously close. A few more minutes of this and she'd be lost to him.

All too suddenly, his desire to be inside her became a necessity.

He withdrew his fingers from her sheath and began to massage her lips gently, keeping her release at bay but her senses engaged.

"I think it's time I worshipped you in a different way, _leannan_."

Before she could reply, he rose from the bed and began removing the rest of his clothes with a brisk, impatient speed, tossing them aside to join the pile of their discarded clothes. Then he turned to face her.

She gasped. " _Maker's balls_."

He smirked. "They're hardly Maker-sized."

"Well, 'Maker's cock' doesn't have as nice a ring to it."

She now understood at least part of the reason why so many ladies deplored his taking the cloth. He was unexpectedly, impressively big—as thick as her wrist and just a few inches shy of the length of her forearm.

He chuckled as he rejoined her on the bed, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. "And you say _I_ have a filthy mouth."

"Perhaps we deserve each other," she said, with a lopsided grin.

"Perhaps we do."

He reached over to the bedside table and pulled the drawer open, pulling out a half-filled bottle of some kind of clear, viscous oil. He poured a generous amount onto his palm before stroking his shaft, completely coating it in a clear sheen. "Just dragonthorn oil," he said, when he caught her questioning glance, "To help ease my passage." He positioned himself on top of her, careful not to crush her with his weight. She expected him to enter her right away, but he didn't. Instead, he guided his throbbing staff to her entrance, letting it glide across her sopping wet lips, but never entering.

She searched his eyes and, much to her surprise, saw hesitation muddled with his transparent desire.

"Sarah... Are you sure you still want this?" he asked, the concern and uncertainty palpable in his voice.

She didn't just want it. She _needed_ it. She nodded impatiently and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Yes, yes, just get inside me, you silly Chantry boy."

His laughed, shaking his head. "Aye, bossy." He stroked her still swollen pearl with his fingers while he wrapped one arm around her waist, angling her hips up slightly. He slid the bulbous head of his cock past her slick folds into her tight, molten heat, and swallowed a curse. He bent his head to kiss her as he sank in slowly, inch by sweet inch. It took every last shred of his will to refrain from forging straight into her blessedly tight sheath, but he could feel the tension mount in her spine. Her body wasn't ready for a rough, ruthless coupling. Yet.

He soldiered on, going as slowly and gently as he possibly could, aided by the lubricant dragonthorn oil. He felt her stretch lovingly over his shaft, until he was sunk to the hilt inside her silken sheath.

She broke the kiss with a choked gasp, her eyes wide from shock.

Because even though she cradled his entire length inside her body, she felt no pain.

"Are you alright, _leannan_? Do you want me to stop?"

"I... I thought the first time was supposed to hurt, but it doesn't."

"It isn't always so," he said through gritted teeth, fighting the urge to mate with her rough and hard. "Not if the man goes slowly and gently, and the woman is relaxed and wet enough. I understand it's different for every woman."

The feeling of her wet, scalding heat engulfing his throbbing erection almost made the idea of going slowly and gently unfathomable, but he held still and turned his attention to her pleasure. He kissed her again while his hand continued to stroke her sensitive bud, giving her time to adjust not only to his length, but the sensation of him inside her. When he felt her body soften, he withdrew a fraction and thrust back in slowly.

Still no pain. Only a delicious feeling of fullness.

"Do that again."

Sebastian proved to be nothing if not obliging. With his hands clamped around her hips, he established the cadence of their intimate dance, steady and unhurried. Sarah gave herself whole-heartedly to the rhythm, her heightened sense of awareness taking in every physical sensation.

The sound of the quieting autumn storm—now just a light shower—mingling with the soft huff of his breathing.

The earthy, woodsy scent that clung to his skin and deepened with desire.

The look of raw, soul-deep hunger in his intensely focused archer eyes.

The taste of her own nectar still sweet on his tongue.

The feeling of having him fill and stretch her so completely, so perfectly, it was as if the Maker had molded them for each other.

It was almost too much for her.

"Touch your pearl, _leannan_. Show me how much pleasure you can give yourself," he growled into her ear.

Without a second thought, her fingers went down to caress the tender button. Sensation lanced through her anew, pure and white-hot. She had touched herself like this countless times before, but always in the privacy of her own room, with no one there to watch or hear her.

No one there to fuck her until she couldn't think straight.

That was the direction their lovemaking seemed to be headed. He hooked her legs over his elbows and leaned forward, allowing him to penetrate her core more deeply. She could feel the pace of his thrusts grow steadily faster while he pressed fevered kisses to her lips, her chin, her neck, her breasts—whatever part of her his mouth could reach.

"We're both almost home,  _leannan_ ," he whispered hoarsely against her swollen lips, "I need you to tell me: where do you want me to come?"

She knew perfectly well what would happen if he finished inside her. She knew perfectly well it meant the possibility of a child—their child—growing in her womb.  _The first of our thirteen children_ , she thought to herself with a smile.

"Inside, Sebastian. I want you to come inside me."

 _Maker be praised._ "As my lady wishes." He urged her on, and she matched him step for step, climbing inexorably towards the peak together.

Higher, and higher, until the passion crescendoed and sent her careening over the edge.

She arched her back off the bed and came with a muted cry, buoyed by rapture so deliriously intense she felt like her body was afloat on the Rialto Bay. The rhythmic contractions of her release were the last straw for Sebastian. With a final thrust and a guttural moan, he joined her in the void, pouring himself deep inside her. Limbs entwined, they fell back together against the sea of tangled sheets and pillows.

And in that moment of consummate bliss, Sebastian knew that paradise would not come when the Chant of Light was sung from all the corners of the world, as the Chantry had long taught him.

No. Paradise was here.

With her.

*****

_3rd of Kingsway 9:42 Dragon_

Hours later, Sebastian was the first to awake.

Outside, the autumn storm had passed, and the whole world lay quiet as the first rays of sunlight painted the dawn sky in brilliant streaks of vermillion and amber. A few moments later, the bells of the Starkhaven Cathedral pealed throughout the city to herald the new day's sun.

_Bong! Bong! Bong!_

On a normal day, he would drag himself out of bed after the second _bong!_ , and begin his morning routine of making his bed, washing, shaving, and dressing—all by himself, because old Chantry habits died hard.

But today was no normal day.

Today there was a woman, stark naked and deeply sated, sharing his bed.

His lovely new wife.

_Bong! Bong! Bong!_

His lovely new wife who could apparently sleep right through any clamor or clangor; by the time the bells had finished their first chorus of the morning, Sarah was still sound asleep on her side, facing him.

_She must not be a morning person._

A pity, for in his eyes, she was exquisite in the early morning, when soft sunlight poured in through the windows like honey and clung to her curves, left bare from the waist up by the red fleece blanket.

_Sunshine becomes her._

Unfortunately, he didn't have much time to enjoy the way the sunlight danced on her golden skin. Not if he wanted to attend the first morning Chant in the palace chapel, as he had done every morning since he became Prince.

On a normal day, he'd take a detour through the "scenic" route to the palace chapel—passing through the cavernous art gallery and the long hall of high windows overlooking the rose gardens—before the start of the first Chant, attended at this ungodly hour mostly by servants who wanted to fulfill their weekly obligation to the Maker and His Bride before carrying out their morning chores.

But today was no normal day.

Today Sebastian felt no particular inclination to attend the first Chant.

Not when the scenery before him provided a far more enticing inducement to stay in bed.

He heard her let out a soft groan—probably in response to the steadily brightening room—before she rolled onto her belly, her slightly disheveled hair obscuring half of her face.

He chuckled. _Yes, definitely not a morning person._

He let his eyes wander over her bare back, taking in certain features that he hadn't noticed the previous night.

Like the pair of dimples at the base of her spine, just above her luscious bottom. He knew they'd be the perfect spot to place his thumbs if he ever took her from behind.

_Maker preserve me, it's far too early for these prurient thoughts._

His stiff morning wood, however, seemed to think otherwise.

_I really should go now. The Chant will start soon._

As he reluctantly moved to get up from bed, he felt her shift again. When he looked back, Sarah was stretching languidly like a cat before she finally opened her eyes and gave him a soft, contented smile.

The smile that tugged at his heart the night before.

The smile that made him believe that happiness might just be possible after all.

"Good morning, my Prince."

_The Chant can wait._

"Good morning, my Princess."

Today was no normal day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took awhile, but this story is finally done! One of my biggest complaints with Sebastian's romance arc is this *ugh* chaste marriage nonsense. WHY make such a gorgeous man in a Bioware game and not let us romance him properly? Given that he used to play around when he was younger, I think it's such a wasted opportunity—and a waste of Sebastian's "talent." I think he would have made a much more interesting character if we were allowed to explore his past. 
> 
> I'm thinking about doing a oneshot or two featuring our Prince and Princess, but we'll see. If you enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it, please leave a comment and/or kudos! I really appreciate them. :) 
> 
> Note on languages:  
> In the Dragon Age games, most characters from Starkhaven (e.g. Sebastian and Rylen from DA:I) have Scottish accents while most Antivan characters (e.g. Zevran from DA:O and Vincento from DA2) speak with Spanish accents—Vincento even says, "Maldición!" which is Spanish for "Damn!" As such, I've added a few words in Scottish Gaelic and Spanish:  
> Cacan (Gaelic) - Wee shite  
> Leannan (Gaelic) - My dear; sweetheart  
> Venga (Spanish) - Come on  
>   
> Note on lore:  
> While writing this story, I tried to stay faithful to the lore whenever possible. This includes references to other games in the series, codex entries, and word-of-God:  
> -Vallaslin, sometimes referred to as blood writing, is what the Dalish call the intricate facial tattoos worn by all adult clan members.  
> -In DA:I, party banter between Varric and Iron Bull regarding the latter's name reveals that there is a pair of identical twin exotic dancers called the Veridium Bull based in Llomeryn in Rivain. Since Sebastian used to be fuccboi (and a rich one who could afford to travel around Thedas), I imagine he would have gone to see them.  
> -It bugs me that most fanfic doesn't mention proper lubrication, because anyone who's actually had sex knows that lube just makes it better. Personal lubricant has been around for thousands of years; the earliest written record mentions the use of olive oil for this purpose in Greece in 350 BCE. So it's not a stretch to imagine that the people of Thedas would have something similar. I decided to go with dragonthorn oil because in DA:I, dragonthorn is used to make Antivan Fire. ;) I have an odd sense of humor.  
> -According to the Chantry, the Maker has turned his back on the world because of mankind's wickedness. The Chantry teaches that one day, when the Chant of Light is sung from all the corners of the world, the Maker will finally return and transform the world into a paradise. Until that day, however, He only watches for those few who follow Andraste's teachings. When they die, the Maker brings them to his side.


End file.
